


fortresses

by a_kiwi



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_kiwi/pseuds/a_kiwi
Summary: Linhardt hated battles— the gut-wrenching gore, the endless bloodshed, the violence— but when Ferdinand was at his side, the fortress he built up around himself would begin to crumble.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	fortresses

**Author's Note:**

> With the current situation in the world, my anxiety levels have been through the roof. If you happen to be seeking a reprieve from that, or from anything in general, then I hope this short fanfic can heal you. (Although TW: Battles, anxiety attacks.)

It was the end of the Lone Moon when they met.

Linhardt had arrived at the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach after a tiring day’s journey through Empire territory. It was sometime past midnight when he had walked through the front gates, greeted by a woman with striking green hair that he could only assume was Archbishop Rhea. (Although, he couldn’t recall what she had said to him anyway.) A few other students wandered in at the same time, but Linhardt didn’t pay attention to them.

Except one.

Linhardt could only remember what his voice sounded like— proud, eloquent, noble. He remembered that it was enough to make his cheeks grow red-hot, and the back of his neck to sting with nervous sweat. 

But his mind soon clouded with the desire to sleep, and before he could embed this man into his memory, he already found himself in his dormitory, stuck in his dreams.

  
  


The next morning Linhardt was gathered in the classroom of the Black Eagles, surrounded by his new classmates, most of whom he recognized from his life in the Empire.

There was Edelgard, heir to the imperial throne, who graciously accepted her role as house leader. Then Hubert, son of Marquis Vestra, someone his father had talked about many times. And Caspar, his childhood friend. But there was another noble attending who Linhardt didn’t quite recognize— at least not at first.

Then he spoke.

The noble’s voice rushed through Linhardt’s mind and seized his heart as it had done the night before. His name was Ferdinand von Aegir, he pronounced proudly, with perfect posture and not a single misplaced orange hair on his head. He was the son of the prime minister, and finally Linhardt could recognize him. So this was the noble son of Duke Aegir he had heard about…

He was more attractive than Linhardt had thought, to be honest.

At least, he didn’t want to admit it. But there was something about Ferdinand’s wavy hair, and his virtuous expression, and the way he just  _ existed _ as if drawing all attention, whisking the breath from everyone’s lips. And Linhardt’s reactions— the quickening of his blood pounding against his veins, his heart skipping a beat whenever Ferdinand glanced his way— only told him one thing.

This was a crush.

A  _ major _ one.

And it’d be difficult— no, _ impossible _ — for Linhardt to stifle it.

  
  


He always knew he was different.

Even from his childhood, Linhardt always knew that he liked boys more than girls. Of course, it was his noble duty to marry and pass down his bloodline and his Crest and inherit the position as the Minister of Domestic Affairs… but thinking about his potential future made his head ache. Rather, he focused on the present, and found himself drawn to the boys around him— there was Caspar, whom he didn’t know if he ever liked or not, just that they were definitely best friends, and thinking too much about their relationship would make his head hurt  _ more _ , so he simply chose not to; and now Ferdinand, with whom he wasn't especially close to and didn’t know how to proceed. So Linhardt tucked away the forming crush into the cobwebby folds of his heart and let himself act normally around him— as he would do with all situations that troubled him. In class Ferdinand would sometimes tell him that it wasn’t noble to nap during lectures, and Linhardt would wave him off like he would with anyone else. He would tolerate Ferdinand’s rants about proper nobility at the dining hall. And sometimes, they would meet in the library, where Linhardt was almost too absorbed in his book pile to notice him. Almost.

And Linhardt’s plan showed the fruits of success, at least in the first few weeks at the monastery. The two became friends by natural coincidence of seeing each other multiple times a day, and nothing more. Linhardt’s crush became only a flutter of the heart when he heard Ferdinand say his name.

Soon the new professor joined the Officer’s Academy.

They seemed okay at first, if not a little standoffish, although they were coming from a life as a mercenary. They chose to lead the Black Eagles, and Edelgard and the others seemed pleased with that, so Linhardt was too. Although the mock battle of all three houses loomed over their heads, Linhardt felt good, with the success of his plan and the new professor, even if they didn’t let him sleep in class.

Then he was chosen.

He thought that it’d be a no brainer for the professor to bring Dorothea over him— after all, Dorothea was stronger, proficient in both magic and the sword, and her natural charm would probably win the professor over anyway. But before he knew it he was standing on the battlefield, magic at his fingertips, staring at the backs of the professor, Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand in front of him.

_ Ferdinand _ .

His heart skipped a beat, and he frowned.

He could vaguely hear the chants from the other members of his house on the sidelines— Caspar was yelling something to him as usual, Dorothea was wishing everyone luck, Petra was saying something he didn’t care to listen to; though his mind was not focused on the task ahead of him, rather, his gaze bore holes in the back of Ferdinand’s uniform. He couldn’t look away, as if the sight of Ferdinand was magnetic and he was a mere chunk of iron.

Before he knew it the battle had begun, and the professor was beginning to direct everyone where to go. They sent Edelgard and Ferdinand in first, following in step behind them, and commanded Hubert and Linhardt behind them. 

Linhardt watched Ferdinand take down Ashe with a swipe of his lance, almost too mesmerized to notice Lorenz approach with a lance of his own. Lorenz struck, leaving Linhardt’s shoulder tingling, pain surging up his arm. He countered with a Nosferatu. Linhardt winced as the white magic surrounded Lorenz— he hated attacking anyone, even though this was just a mock battle, and he hated getting hurt himself. He caught Caspar’s eyes from the sidelines, wishing that it was Caspar up here, or Bernadetta, or anyone else…

“Linhardt!” he heard someone shout, then he saw Ferdinand in front of him, turned around, his gaze focused wholly on Linhardt. It made his heart stutter again, and Linhardt forced himself to stay calm. “Do not let yourself get lost in thought! A true noble fights for victory!” Then Ferdinand turned back to dodge an arrow from Ignatz.

Linhardt felt a strange mix of admiration and annoyance— for one, the feelings he had for Ferdinand were beginning to surface again, and as much as he tried he couldn’t force them away again; he was glad Ferdinand had addressed him as so. But on the other hand, he didn’t  _ need _ Ferdinand’s advice— he was perfectly capable in battle. ... _ Right? _

The professor commanded them forward to first take on the Golden Deer house, and they and Edelgard made quick work of Claude and Hilda, while Hubert and Ferdinand were able to defeat Manuela with some damage back. After Linhardt’s lackluster performance earlier, he was staying behind the others, healing them when they needed it, but staying far away from the fighting.

He pressed his hand onto Ferdinand’s shoulder and cast Heal before they moved to finish off the Blue Lions. In response Ferdinand sent him a smile and a noble “thank you”, and Linhardt kept his fingers on Ferdinand for only a moment too long.

The professor commanded them all forward, defeating Dedue and Mercedes easily. Dimitri and Hanneman advanced upon them, but Linhardt only watched from behind and healed when necessary. Edelgard made quick work of Hanneman, and Ferdinand moved in for the blow on Dimitri, Linhardt close behind.

Linhardt was hyper-focused; the next few moments seemed to occur in slow motion. Dimitri moved suddenly to Linhardt, the tip of his iron spear sharp with rust, and thrusted forward— but Linhardt didn’t feel the pain. Instead, Ferdinand stood before him, dislodging Dimitri’s lance deep from his own chest, and he seized the opportunity for a strong blow in return. A shining symbol appeared before Ferdinand— his own crest, a Minor Crest of Cichol, Linhardt recognized at once— and he struck Dimitri down with ease. Linhardt became acutely aware of the pounding in his own chest.

As the horns of victory blew, Ferdinand turned to Linhardt and smiled.

Then he collapsed.

  
  


The members of the Black Eagles accompanied Manuela and a fainted Ferdinand to the infirmary. Linhardt couldn’t seem to dissipate the worry from his mind, but he tried to keep a neutral expression despite everything that had just happened. And either way, he didn’t wish to think about his own emotions for longer than he had to.

“Will he be alright?” Edelgard asked, firm.

“Maybe he would be conscious now if Linhardt had been able to cast Heal rather than just stand there,” Caspar joked beside him.

“I’ll have you know that the battle was already over.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you were blinded by his Crest,” Caspar laughed.

It was true that Linhardt didn’t know Ferdinand had bore a Crest. He almost wished that Ferdinand had talked about it more, and then it would have given him a reason to talk to him, but it was also oddly charming that Ferdinand’s idea of nobility focused more on merit rather than Crests. Even though Linhardt loved to research them, it exhausted him how much importance contemporary nobles placed on them.

Linhardt only frowned, and thankfully his peers were more worried about Ferdinand than teasing him.

By the time Linhardt extracted himself from his thoughts again, Ferdinand lay on an infirmary bed, with Manuela’s fingers pressed to his forehead, full of magic. Everyone else seemed to be nervously watching, waiting for him to wake up— even the professor was showing a few signs of concern, their brows furrowed.

After a few tense moments, Ferdinand’s eyes slowly opened.

There was an almost audible sigh of relief in the room, although everyone knew he’d be okay, and the Black Eagles began to rejoice. 

“Step back everyone, I still need to treat the wound directly; it was rather deep.” Manuela grabbed some herbs from an unmarked drawer and wasted no time in taking off Ferdinand’s uniform shirt in front of the others. Linhardt tried to look away, avoid the blush, do  _ anything  _ to quell the emotions banging on the glass walls of his heart. 

He couldn’t resist and glanced back for a few moments, but the sight of Ferdinand’s toned chest from training made the heat in his body rise, and he set his eyes on the floor once again.

Once the deep wound was nothing but a scar, Ferdinand leaned up slowly. At once almost everyone in the Black Eagles surrounded him, chattering excitedly about the battle and the amazing feat he had just performed. Linhardt was behind them, but for a moment he caught a glimpse of Ferdinand’s face through the crowd of the others. They locked eyes.

He smiled.

_ I just want to say ‘thank you’, _ thought Linhardt,  _ I hope you understand that. _

And Linhardt smiled back.

  
  


Linhardt was at his usual place in the library, absorbed into a book on ancient Crest research, when Ferdinand found him.

As far as Linhardt knew, he hadn’t been in there for very long, and he was only just beginning his late-night research. In fact, he had only read three books since he had arrived, which was a miniscule amount compared to the fortress of books that towered on his library table. Ferdinand peered over the top of the book fortress.

“Why are you awake at this time of night?”

Linhardt shrugged, his eyes still focused on the page he was reading. “It’s not late yet.”

“You  _ do  _ know that it is past midnight, Linhardt.”

He set his book down. “Well, I could say the same of you.”

Ferdinand sat down, pushing the books aside. “I could not sleep, so I figured I would stroll around the monastery, but I noticed that you were not in your room. Were you unable to sleep as well?”

“I’ve been up here since dinner, and besides, I usually study for long past this time.”

“I see… so you enjoy studying Crests and sleeping when you have other responsibilities to accomplish, but not much else?”

Linhardt’s fingers nervously tapped the book in front of him. “When I read about Crests and the history of Fódlan, I tend to lose track of time. That’s why I nap so much during the day.”

“Ah, I understand.”

There was a short moment of quiet before Linhardt stood.

“Well, I’m starting to feel tired now, and as you said, it’s late. If you excuse me…”

“No, I— you can stay, Linhardt. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

Linhardt’s chest tightened, and he sat back down in the warm library chair. Possibilities flitted through his mind, each one threatening Linhardt’s emotions to boil up to the surface.

“I did, too,” he said. “I never got the chance to say thank you.”

Ferdinand’s eyebrows furrowed. “For taking the blow in the mock battle? That was nothing, Linhardt, and I have healed nicely.”

“It was truly the noble thing to do, Ferdinand. And everyone was worried about you when you fainted.”

Ferdinand’s cheeks grew pink at the compliment, and the ends of his mouth curved up in a small smile that Linhardt regarded as  _ extremely cute. _ “Well, I do try my best to live up to my image of perfect nobility.”

“But why did you faint? Was it exerting too much power, or perhaps your Crest?” Linhardt wondered.

“I think the rush of the battle was beginning to wear off by then. Besides, do we not all possess limits?”

“That’s true. Unfortunately, I seem to hit mine very quickly.”

“Is that why you did not fight much in the mock battle?”

Linhardt nodded, pushing himself from his chair once again. An uncomfortable feeling began to worm itself into his stomach, just as he felt whenever he stood in battle. Ferdinand was frowning slightly, as if he knew the conversation would soon end, yet he didn’t want it to. 

“It seems so,” Linhardt mumbled. He didn’t want to think about battle, either the mock one or the upcoming mission routing bandits in Zanado that the professor had announced earlier that day. “I think I’ve hit my limit for tonight. Would you like to come with me back to the dormitories?”

Ferdinand nodded, and the two retired back to their dorms, wandering the monastery by moonlight. Linhardt couldn’t see much, but he sensed Ferdinand’s presence beside him, valiant, and he longed to reach out his hand; to touch soft, but calloused skin.

When Linhardt lay in his bed after the two had retired for the night, he thought of Ferdinand’s smile, his wavy orange hair, and how good it would look bundled in his hands, without a shirt like the other day in the infirmary. Linhardt slept hot, dreaming of euphoria— of a nap in the sun on a warm spring day, a sweet taste in his mouth, levity in his chest.

  
  


After the battle with the bandits at Zanado, Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to leave his room.

Whenever he caught sight of another person, his mind flashed back to the battle— to the endless slaughter. The professor’s sword stained crimson with blood. Edelgard’s axe, now matching the color of her cape. His own fingers, trembling with Nosferatu, and his eyes, watching the thief before him collapse, blood dripping from his mouth and pooling on the rocky ground.

Even though Linhardt was in his bed, his safe space, his mind still brought the memory forward. Tears threatened to bubble up from within; he forced them back down. He clenched his fists in the blanket, tossing around, hoping he could escape from this torment into the world of dreams.

At this point, he didn’t exactly know how long it had been since the Black Eagles had returned. He had seen the sun twice since then, and he had woken in darkness a few other times, but he was beginning to lose count…

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep again.

Linhardt squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for what he was about to do. The plan: spring out of bed and quickly change out of his disheveled night clothes, make a beeline straight to the library, avoiding anyone else who might be out, ignoring whatever time of day it might be, and find himself once again in his safe haven of Crest research journals. He couldn’t see any light through the cracks of the doors, so he figured it must be night, and therefore safe.

His hypothesis turned out to be true— it seemed to be sometime after midnight, as the monastery grounds were completely quiet. He slipped quietly up the stairs, being sure to tiptoe around Seteth’s office, and around the corner to the library.

His hopes were dashed when he spotted a familiar wave of orange hair.

Linhardt had just wanted to  _ escape _ , to not be stuck inside of his head, replaying the battle over and over. But now that he had the unfortunate luck to encounter Ferdinand, well, he figured his classmate would be worried about where he had been. Especially since Ferdinand had always been uptight about class attendance.

He felt a tightness in his chest.  _ This situation is somewhat annoying. _

It felt like forever until Ferdinand noticed Linhardt, standing at the door of the library almost as if he were a statue. Ferdinand set his book down and waved Linhardt over, who took a few begrudging steps and sat opposite to him at the table.

“I thought you would come eventually. Why have you not left your room, Linhardt?”

Linhardt couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. He chose to avoid Ferdinand’s question. “Were you waiting for me?”

Ferdinand shrugged. “I did not want to be intrusive, and I knew you would show up here eventually.”

“Well, why would you want to meet with me?” He eyed the book Ferdinand was reading; it was a history textbook of the Empire, the first volume. He had read it at least twice in his childhood home and once at his time in the monastery so far.

“Myself and the other Black Eagles are worried about you. You have not even been at the dining hall lately. Did something happen, or is this normal for you?”

Linhardt rested his cheek on his hand, leaning into the table. “I just don’t like to battle,” he said in a small voice. Even though he still couldn’t bring himself to look at Ferdinand, he saw his eyebrows turn up in concern.

“I am sure that most of us can say the same, Linhardt.”

“You don’t understand,” Linhardt asserted. His chested twist again, and the pain of the battle, both emotional and physical, shocked his body. He saw it again, the thief, foaming with blood—

He tried to say more, but the words stopped in his throat.

“It was your first real mission, correct?” asked Ferdinand. “I understand how it would feel for you. When I was growing up, I would watch my father occasionally order armies to stop any local revolts, and my family had even instructed me in preparation for the battlefield one day. It was not easy at first.”

“How… how are you supposed to get over the sight of blood?” Linhardt asked, daring to finally look at him. “To me, it’s easier to spend my time lazing about than to take away someone’s life by my own hands.”

“It is hard, Linhardt. But it is justice that drives me,” Ferdinand answered. “It seems you will have to work on your constitution if you wish to be a Knight of Seiros.”

“Easy for you to say. When I’m done here, I plan to retire back home and spend my days researching and fishing.”

The tightness in Linhardt’s chest was steadily disappearing. Ferdinand smiled, and his heart loosened more alongside.

“It sounds like you do not foresee a very noble future for yourself, Linhardt,” he teased.

“It’s noble enough for me. Now, if you excuse me, I would like to do some studying to take my mind off things. You should probably head back to your room before it gets too late. And be sure to be quiet around Seteth’s office— he usually works late, and he’ll yell at you if he knows you’re awake at this hour. It seems like that man doesn’t even need sleep…” Linhardt mused.

“Thank you for your concern, but I actually wish to stay here with you.”

Linhardt felt his cheeks redden and he quickly swiped a book from the table to hide behind; Ferdinand smirked. Childish joy filled Linhardt’s chest, fogging his mind and judgement in the process. He was sure he was still blushing.

“Th-thank you,” he stammered.

“It is nothing,” Ferdinand dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I would just like to make sure that you are okay, and to accompany you after you have been a recluse for the past few days. Is that alright?”

Linhardt nodded, burying his head in the book. (He hadn’t noticed he had grabbed a book on noble families from the Kingdom, which he had already read here, but it would be too awkward to grab a different one, he figured.) Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ferdinand smile, and relax into a book himself. 

He thought more to himself instead of reading the text in front of him. 

_ A noble future, huh? _

He glanced up at Ferdinand— calm and serene. His eyes drooped slightly, as if he was growing tired, but didn’t care to mention it for Linhardt’s sake. Sun-kissed freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, splashed about haphazardly like a painter would wave a brush coated with orange paint. And maybe he was just dreaming it, but it seemed that Ferdinand’s face was tinged with pink, too.

_ I wouldn’t hate a noble future, _ Linhardt considered, the words ringing powerful and slow in his mind,  _ if it was one with Ferdinand in it. _

  
  


If Linhardt thought the battle at Zanado was bad, then the confrontation with Lonato and the rebelling Western Church was  _ hell _ .

This time he vowed he wouldn’t leave his room at  _ all _ , between the fear settling deep inside of him and the fits of salty tears that bubbled up from the dark recesses of his mind. 

Every so often he would begin to feel better, to forget about the rebellion and mindless bloodshed and all of it, yet time after time it came again without warning—

The rapid heartbeat. His breaths, too light and quick. Sweat pooling. Tears stinging at his eyes, twisted shut. The memories of battle, this and the one before. Endless fear, stretched out before him. Trapped. Suffocating.

_ How much longer would he have to murder? _

But this time, it wasn’t long before Linhardt had a visitor.

The short knocks at his door slowly began to draw him out of his mind, out of his fears. He felt himself blink some tears from his eyes— he couldn’t feel them on his face— and he heard something that sounded strangely like his voice telling the person to come back another time.

“It is me, Ferdinand,” replied the person on the other side of the door.

It took Linhardt a moment to realize who Ferdinand was, again, between bursts of panic. Ferdinand, with the wavy orange hair, with the sun-kissed freckles, the man who would sometimes sit with him in the library on long nights to read in calm silence. Linhardt rubbed away the wetness on his face.

“C-come in,” he said, voice broken and cracked, barely above a whisper, although Linhardt felt as though he was trying to yell as loud as he could.

The door creaked open, and sunlight blinded Linhardt for a few moments before it closed again. Before him stood Ferdinand, holding a plate of teacups, the lines of his face laced with worry. Linhardt tried to cover himself with his blankets.

He heard Ferdinand place the tea on his desk and take a few trepid steps toward him. “You are a mess, Linhardt. What happened?”

Linhardt couldn’t halt the burst of tears welling up. Hurriedly, Ferdinand reached out for him, taking a seat on his bed and scouring the sheets for Linhardt’s trembling hand. Ferdinand held them in his own.

“I—” Linhardt tried to speak, but he was suddenly hyperventilating, nonsensical words tumbling out of his mouth as tears fell from his eyes. 

“You must breathe, Linhardt,” Ferdinand said, taking in and letting out an exaggeratedly large breath for Linhardt to follow. He took in a deep breath, only for it to be racked by sobs.

“I am right here, Linhardt. You will be alright. You are safe,” Ferdinand reminded him, squeezing his hands. Linhardt kept attempting more steady breaths, finally feeling the dizziness ebb away. He threw his head upon Ferdinand’s shoulder, who held his hands tight, stroking his wrists slowly to calm him. 

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” Linhardt mumbled once he was more composed. “I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Was it the battle?”

Linhardt nodded, rubbing his tear-stained face on Ferdinand’s uniform. Ferdinand was silent for a while; Linhardt forced his anxieties out from his mind.

“I brought you some tea,” said Ferdinand finally. “It is most likely cold by now, but I brought your favorite.”

“I’ll drink it.”

Ferdinand reached over for the small porcelain cups and handed one to Linhardt. He sat up, taking a sip of the tea with a timid glance to Ferdinand. The sweet but sharp taste of the familiar angelica tea flooded his senses, grounding him more. It was still warm.

Linhardt stared at the cup. It was fragile, but beautiful— white with swirling blue decor on the rim. He tapped his fingers against the smooth porcelain. A thin crack had snaked its way down the side.

They each drank their tea.

And Linhardt’s heartbeat slowed to its usual steady tempo.

“Thank you,” he managed after the long moment of silence. He looked at Ferdinand, finally taking him in— worry still painted his complexion, his eyebrows upturned and mouth forged into a small frown. Despite that, his hair was still placed neatly in its gentle orange-bright curves, and his freckles still shone as if each was a star. A small tea stain enveloped the palm of his white glove.

Ferdinand placed his empty cup aside and, with a moment of hesitation, it seemed, he reached for Linhardt’s hand once more.

The gesture sent a shock through Linhardt’s already-fragile heart. He squeezed it, the white, silk glove smooth under the palm of his sweaty hand, wondering if this was all a dream, if he had died and woken up in a world where Ferdinand would help him so.

So many words filled his mind, but he didn’t know what to say.

“What are you doing?” Linhardt managed to spit out. His hand was clammy and hot. Ferdinand still held on.

“We were worried about you,” Ferdinand said, voice low but still ringing with its usual noble tone. “So I brought your favorite tea.”

“That was very noble of you, Ferdinand.”

Ferdinand smiled, and the tops of his cheeks turned sunset-pink behind his freckles. With his free hand, he took Linhardt’s empty tea cup and set it aside for him.

“I did not expect that you would be…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Linhardt mumbled.

“No, it— it is alright. I do not wish to make you feel worse.”

Linhardt used his spare hand to nervously knead his blankets. He moved his gaze away from Ferdinand, a knot of nervousness in his stomach becoming too much to handle.

“I will leave if I am making you uncomfortable,” said Ferdinand, starting to stand up. Linhardt’s heart squeezed itself tight; he pulled Ferdinand back down on the bed.

“Pl—please stay,” Linhardt whispered. “Please talk to me.”

He felt Ferdinand’s gaze on him, confused, blazing white-hot. “About?”

Linhardt shrugged, his face burning  _ red _ now, obviously noticeable. “Anything to fill the silence and keep my mind occupied.”

Ferdinand smiled again, doing nothing to help Linhardt’s complexion. He rubbed the back of Linhardt’s hand with a gloved thumb, and began to talk about all sorts of various things— his father, his childhood, his nobility, life as in Aegir lands, that day’s training and lecture, the food in the dining hall. Linhardt’s body relaxed; at one point he lay his head down on the bed and stared at Ferdinand sitting tall beside him. 

Soon Ferdinand’s words began to fade, and soft sleep enveloped him.

  
  


He dreamed of lips, soft as orange.

  
  


Linhardt awoke later that night with a presence still next to him. He reached out, feeling an Academy uniform, soft skin, soft hair. From this presence came slight snores.

He almost didn’t realize that his other hand remained entwined with Ferdinand’s.

  
  


The next morning Ferdinand was gone from Linhardt’s room, but a note remained on his desk, scrawled in neat writing:

_ Linhardt, _

(The end of the  _ t _ flourished, extending almost to the other side of the paper.)

_ I apologize for walking in on you so suddenly yesterday. I will tell the others you are feeling ill; take the time you need to rest. I am sure the professor will understand. Tonight, I will be in the library with tea and leftovers from dinner— I hope you are able to make it. _

_ Signed, Ferdinand von Aegir. _

(The signature looked just as royal as Ferdinand was.)

Linhardt plucked it from its spot amidst the clutter of books, holding it close to his chest. 

A strange levity swirled within him. It was like the feeling that came to him whenever he was researching his Crests or tinkering with Hanneman’s Crest Analyzer when he wasn’t in the room (okay, maybe  _ that  _ part was somewhat fear that he would suddenly be found messing around in Hanneman’s office). Like the feeling that came to him when he fished, with the wind blowing his hair into his face, the pond rippling in front of him. As if the wind and the waves were lifting his soul.

And when he thought of Ferdinand, the feeling only intensified.

  
  


That night, Linhardt found Ferdinand in the library, right where he had promised. He was surrounded by a fortress of books, not unlike Linhardt when the two had met there for the first time. Linhardt took a seat across from Ferdinand, swiping away the books towering between them. Ferdinand smiled, and slid a plate of slightly-cold pheasant roast to him.

“It was the best I could do,” Ferdinand said with a shrug. 

Linhardt devoured it anyway.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked, blunt, between bites of food.

Ferdinand’s eyes widened. “You are a classmate of mine, Linhardt. Is it not the noble thing to assist you?”

“But that’s all you’ve done since you’ve come to the monastery. Took a blow for me in the mock battle. Gave me reassurance. Met me in the library, and coaxed me out of my room. And… helped me yesterday.” A nervous flutter arose in him.

It seemed that Ferdinand was blushing. “Of course, I would do it for anyone…”

Slowly, Linhardt was starting to see through Ferdinand.

He smirked, and the nervous flutter in his stomach untied itself from its knots.  _ So that’s how it is… _ he thought,  _ it makes sense now. _

But he only said: “I see.”

After Linhardt finished his food he began to peruse the library shelves— the books Ferdinand had gathered on the table were all ones he had read before, as they were the ones with topics of Crests and history. (Nonetheless, Linhardt considered it a nice gesture.) He found a fish encyclopedia he had been eyeing for a while and settled down in his chair, the familiar and calming sight of Ferdinand in his peripheral vision.

They were like that for a while.

(Even though Ferdinand was yawning more and more, and it seemed as though he was nodding off often, Ferdinand showed no resolve to leave. So together they sat, tranquil.)

“Hey, Linhardt,” Ferdinand said, breaking the silence with a small yawn. He placed his book down and stretched his arms out in front of him, as to reinvigorate his blood flow. “I have just realized that I do not actually know very much about you at all.”

Linhardt chuckled. “Even though we’ve been spending all this time together?”

“W-well,” he sputtered, “you know all about me!”

To Linhardt, the night before was a haze— only a few segments of memory remained, as when Ferdinand showed up, and the sharp taste of the tea, and Ferdinand’s seemingly endless chatter paving the way for Linhardt’s sweet dreams. Oh, and that Ferdinand was still there in the middle of the night, the two entwined…

“You’ll have to repeat it. I don’t recall…” mused Linhardt, only half-teasing.

“You were not listening? I retold half of my life’s story!” Ferdinand’s fists clenched, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a laugh posed behind them, threatening to spill.

“Well, let’s talk about you another time then. What do you want to know about me?”

Ferdinand shrugged. “I do not know— perhaps about your life outside of the monastery? Do you do anything at all besides sleep and study? What was it like growing up under House Hevring?”

“Restrictive. My father would always tell me to do something other than sleep.”

“Maybe you should listen to him sometime, Linhardt,” remarked Ferdinand pointedly. “A true noble should not give into sloth anyhow.”

“Then I’m not a true noble, at least not like  _ you _ ,” he smirked.

“Oh, you are truly kind, Linhardt…” Ferdinand rubbed the back of his neck.

“You  _ do  _ understand sarcasm, don’t you?”

His cheeks were splashed with red. “Please do not toy with me!”

A laugh spilled from Linhardt. “My apologies.”

“You are like a cat. Always sleeping when you wish, always playing with people when awake…”

“Is that an insult? I’ll have you know I like cats very much.”

“Obsessed with fish…” Ferdinand gestured to the book still in Linhardt’s hands.

“Fine. I won’t tease you any more,  _ Ferdie _ .” Linhardt almost laughed again when he saw Ferdinand’s blush grow a deeper red, if that was even possible. Ferdinand tried to hide his face behind his pristeen gloves.

“ _ Linhardt! _ ” Linhardt figured that Ferdinand’s shout was almost loud enough for Seteth to hear from his office. He smiled impishly.

“If I’m going to tell you about my life, then you can’t admonish me for my less-than-noble choices! Or else I’ll just keep messing with you.”

“Alright,  _ alright _ . You may continue.”

Linhardt set his book aside, lacing his fingers in front of him. “Where do I begin?”

And he talked, staring straight into Ferdinand’s royal eyes, eyes which glinted with curiosity despite their weariness. He noted each of Ferdinand’s confident nods, and yawns, and how many times he blushed. But neither succumbed to sleep.

Linhardt only finished when the sun caressed the horizon— then did the two retire from the library.

  
  


To Linhardt, the battle in the Holy Mausoleum was sort of the anomaly in his panic-inducing battles thus far.

Because in front of him the entire time was Ferdinand, courageously charging into enemy lines upon horseback, not allowing any bloodshed near Linhardt. And even when he was beginning to feel his stomach twist at the sight of the fighting, Ferdinand dispelled his anxieties with a smile.

With the two of them together, even the Death Knight was no match. (With a little help from Ferdinand’s crest, of course.)

And when the battle was over, and everyone was marvelling at the professor brandishing the Sword of the Creator, Ferdinand slipped a careful hand into Linhardt’s.

  
  


And even after the battle, after the bloodshed and the panic and the triumph, Ferdinand would not allow Linhardt to be alone.

After the students and the knights alike dispersed to their beds, weary from the long confrontation, Ferdinand shadowed Linhardt’s steps back to his own. Linhardt tried to protest— he was tired, he would be alright this time, he promised to call for Ferdinand if anything was wrong— but Ferdinand wouldn’t give in. So instead Linhardt relented, heart pounding in his chest from either the recent battle or Ferdinand by his side.

“May I sleep on the bed with you?” asked Ferdinand, while the two were changing into their night clothes, both facing opposite walls with similar red hues upon their faces.

“There’s obviously not enough room,” Linhardt retorted. His heart threatened to explode just from the request.

“Well, someone in this monastery must ensure that nothing will happen to you.”

“But I don’t feel as terrible as I did after the last two battles. So I’ll be fine,” Linhardt argued, pulling a loose, red shirt over his head. He didn’t bother to check whether Ferdinand was dressed before he kicked some books aside and started making the bed.

“And  _ who _ exactly fought off every enemy from you and smiled at you for the entire battle?”

He sighed. “You.”

“So that is why I must accompany you tonight! You see, it is all a part of my plan to help you overcome your fears of battle.”

Linhardt turned to see Ferdinand dressed in similar red night clothes, a small black eagle embroidered on the front. His arms and legs were surprisingly muscular— probably due to all of his horseback riding he did both in and out of battle. Linhardt thought of falling asleep wrapped in those limbs, and he turned back around with his face burning too hot for comfort.

“Fine. Blow out the candle and climb in here…”

As Linhardt was squeezing himself next to the wall, darkness engulfed the room. After a few seconds he felt Ferdinand lowering himself into the bed, only centimeters away. Ferdinand’s hot breath fell onto Linhardt’s nose.

“Let me put my arm under you,” Ferdinand asserted.

“Why?”

“So... we will be more comfortable?”

“I thought we threw comfort out of the window when we decided to share this twin-size bed.”

Ferdinand scoffed. “I will have you know that I am doing this for you! I do not want you to… have any more negative experiences.”

Linhardt wiped his sweaty palms on the blanket. “You’d do that?” he asked, soft.

Ferdinand sat up; Linhardt could barely see the outline of his body with his adjusting eyes. “Of course, Linhardt. I…” he trailed off, as though there was something he wished to say, but lacked the courage.

Linhardt took a deep breath, steeling himself, then he slipped his arms around Ferdinand’s chest and buried his head in the clothes there. His pulse pounded against his ears, but he didn’t move. Tears pricked at his eyes— he didn’t know why. He stifled oncoming sobs.

“Linhardt?” Ferdinand wrapped his arms around him, cradling his body like a small animal. Linhardt’s breaths were heavy with both the memory of the battle and the comfort of Ferdinand. His hands, ungloved, stroked Linhardt’s back.

“Th—thank you,” Linhardt choked out, returning to sobs.

“Focus on your breathing. You will be okay. Let yourself relax.”

Linhardt timed his breaths with Ferdinand’s slow strokes. After a few minutes they were relaxed, lying on top of the bed together, hugging each other tight.

“Are you feeling okay now?” Ferdinand asked as Linhardt was drifting off to sleep.

Linhardt nodded sleepily.

Just before the cold hands of sleep dragged him out of reality, he heard some soft whisper, and felt warm lips on his forehead.

  
  


Linhardt dreamed of a war, of endless fearsome enemies.

But, more importantly, he dreamed of Ferdinand by his side.

  
  


In the morning Ferdinand was sitting at Linhardt’s desk, already in his academy uniform, as if the bed-sharing hadn’t happened the night before. Ferdinand hurried Linhardt off to class, not giving him time to process, well…  _ everything _ . And from there the day continued as usual— the professor’s lectures, lunch, training, dinner… 

Linhardt would have considered it normal, if not for the sudden romantic tension.

On his walk to the library that night, sometime after most had retired to their dorms, he was conflicted about it. On one hand, it was more likely that Ferdinand shared his feelings than not. On the other, he didn’t want to drag Ferdinand into the mess that was himself— and, statistically, would their relationship even work out? They were almost entirely different. Would their parents even approve?

But Linhardt’s anxieties melted away once he saw Ferdinand in the library.

This time, there was no immense pile of books. Ferdinand wasn’t even reading anything— just waiting (for Linhardt, probably). Linhardt took a seat in front of him as he normally would.

“I did not know what to read,” Ferdinand shrugged. “I assumed that we could just enjoy each other’s company this evening.”

Linhardt held his face in his hands, elbows resting on the table. “So… what do you want to talk about?”

“Oh, I did not have a topic planned. Do you?”

Linhardt thought for a moment. “Can I study your Crest?”

“Hm... only if you tell me more about yourself.”

“Didn’t I tell you pretty much everything last time?” Linhardt messed with the sleeve of his uniform, his gaze drifting away from Ferdinand.

“Well, how have you been since then?”

Linhardt’s chest pounded as the seductive thought slithered into his head to tell Ferdinand about his true feelings. He almost resisted, but courage as well as a red blush arose from within him and he found the words tumble out of his mouth as he thought  _ fuck it _ :

“Since I realized I loved you?”

Linhardt allowed his eyes to find Ferdinand again, and he was a shocked as Linhardt was— if Linhardt thought his blush was bad, Ferdinand’s was  _ certainly _ worse, and his mouth was stuck open in a small “o”, and Linhardt’s own heartbeat drummed at his ribs, and for a while time seemed frozen, each hesitating with all secrets laid bare, with all fortresses gone.

“A—are you toying with me, Linhardt?! Or— or is it possible that…”

“What? I was certain you’d feel the same, after the little stunt you pulled last night forcing us to share a bed, and even kissing me—”

“Alright!” Ferdinand’s blush deepend. “I will admit, I… have found myself increasingly worried about you, and that I care very much about you, and…”

Linhardt smiled lazily and took Ferdinand’s hand in his own.

Ferdinand almost combusted.

  
  


That night, snuggled between Ferdinand’s arms, Linhardt dreamed of peace, of Ferdinand’s wavy orange hair and striking orange freckles, of a proud noble voice that made his cheeks grow red-hot and the back of his neck sting with nervous sweat. He dreamed of serene days and of euphoric ones.

And most of all, he dreamed of having it forever.


End file.
